


a pillar i am, upright

by inmoonlightigetseasick



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Henry is a Prince like in the Unspecified Olden Times, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, and Alex is a Valiant Knight, drama and intrigue and battle scenes, if something is a little historically off, inspired by my boy timothee in the king on netflix, it is set in like an alternate universe europe, then i apologize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inmoonlightigetseasick/pseuds/inmoonlightigetseasick
Summary: Here was the reason Henry was not meant for kingship— his splendorous shining silver armour, his hair piled on his head in glossy black curls, the bronze sheen of his skin, the cut of his jaw, the dark intelligence of his eyes— the sight of him set Henry on fire. A damnation of the most beautiful kind.“Your highness,” the knight said, bowing briefly to Philip, and then to Henry, he said, “your highness.” His voice distinctly stonier.--Once upon a time, a long time ago, and far far away, Henry is a reluctant prince sent to an uncertain war. To help him is Alex, a brave and beautiful knight who teases Henry and speaks to him like no one else would dare. Torn between his annoyance and attraction to this knight, Henry must win pitched battles, and keep close guard of his heart. He doesn't expect that the latter will be so much more difficult than the former. And yet, all's fair.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 29
Kudos: 142





	a pillar i am, upright

Kingship. Henry had not imagined it would come to this. Second in line for a throne he had never wanted, a birthright that had always felt wrong. He stared down the long table, laden with fine embroidered cloth, rich meats, tankards of mead for their midday meeting. The advisors picked at their food, as did Henry, the nervousness quelling any appetite. Henry’s gaze lingered instead on Philip’s pale complexion, the sickly way he held himself now reminded Henry little of the tall, imposing authority he had once been. He could sense the men around the table felt that shift even more keenly, their nervous energy buzzed around them like flies. The anxiety that creased all their brows was this: succession. 

“Brother,” Philip began, but he halted just as quickly, his body wracked suddenly with a violent fit of coughs. A startle and then a cringe took hold of the table as they watched Philip catch his breath. He was still so young. “There is no question about whether or not the crown shall go to you—if I succumb.” Henry felt his heart sink. He looked down at the table, urging the bitter rise of bile in his throat to cease.

“However,” Philip said, and Henry’s eyes shot up, “It is also no secret that my court thinks you green, untrained, and unfit for such a position.”

Henry wanted to protest, but he held his tongue, knowing Philip would only grow irritable if he interrupted. Though they were right in some regards, Henry was the youngest, he had always been more bookish, and preferred to stay indoors while his brother and sister trained and roughhoused. Still, he had dutifully learned his swordsmanship, could ride a horse as well as anyone, and had unparalleled knowledge of military strategy. Though he had never wanted this, he had never felt himself entirely incapable. He bristled at the accusation.

Philip took a few more laboured breaths, “So, you will be leading the charge, in my lieu, into France. I have declared war for this very purpose. You will win, and you will start your kingship on prosperous footing, with a new territory acquired, and the good will of the people.”

Henry lifted his head cautiously, he looked around, particularly at the advisors closest to his brother, who seemed to squirm with the force of holding back their objections. Even they had the good mind to see Philip would be undeterred in this. After all, he had already declared war. Henry knew this war was wasteful, almost unprovoked but for some veiled threats from the new French monarch, and he was not nearly ready to command it. But in many ways he felt he had no choice. He would do as he always had, accept his fate, ignoring the worry in his heart.

“I accept,” Henry said, finally levelling his gaze to Philip’s and holding it there, uncowed, “I thank you for the opportunity. I will not let you down.” The lie left a bitter taste in his mouth.

This appeared to be the last straw for Richards, the rat faced advisor at Philip’s left, causing him to burst, “My lord, you cannot possibly do this. He will be massacred, it will be a disaster. You have— you have effectively ended your lineage!” Philip silenced him then, raising his hand. The way he rolled his eyes nearly made Henry laugh, and perhaps he would have had fear not held his chest quite so tightly in that moment.

“My lineage will be fine. As you all always seem to forget, I also have a very capable sister. If I could send her to war, I would, but I suspect you all would level greater objections to that. So it is decided. Henry will bring glory to the Mountchristen name.”

A cheer went up around the table, “Hear hear!” But everything sounded dull and muted to Henry’s ears.

“One last matter, Henry,” Philip announced as the noise died down, “I would introduce you to your captain.”

Henry could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck, something shifting in the air, and suddenly the doors to the chamber opened. If there had been the threat of Henry losing his lunch before, the nervous clench of his stomach made that an almost absolute certainty just then. The doors had opened to reveal the knight Sir Alexander of Claremont.

Here was the other reason Henry was not meant for kingship— his splendorous shining silver armour, his hair piled on his head in glossy black curls, the bronze sheen of his skin, the cut of his jaw, the dark intelligence of his eyes— the sight of him set Henry on fire. A damnation of the most beautiful kind.

“Your highness,” the knight said, bowing briefly to Philip, and then to Henry, he said, “your highness.” His voice distinctly stonier.

That was what finally quelled the frantic pace of Henry’s heart in his chest, that cool, unimpressed glare the knight levelled at him. It humbled him immediately, he blinked and looked away. The knight had never kept his dislike for Henry a secret. Henry had never been precisely sure what he had done to tarnish himself so thoroughly in the knight’s eyes, but it seemed irreversible. Some part of him was thankful for it. Especially now, where such a desire would hurt the crucial functioning of their forces.

“That is all I called you here for,” Philip said to the table, and he turned to Henry, “My men and I shall leave now that you may talk. You will report back to me of your plan and we will prepare the troops within the next fortnight.”

“Yes, brother,” Henry said, then cleared his throat, his voice suddenly hoarse from the nervous tightness that had gripped it.

Too soon, in a shuffle of robes and grumbling old voices, they were alone.

“I want you to know,” the knight started, “That I’m not thrilled about this partnership either.”

Henry straightened his back suddenly, forced himself to look at him head-on, had his discomfort been telegraphing disinterest? “I have no quarrel with you, Alexander, I never have.”

The knight seemed to bristle at this, he sniffed, “If it’s no quarrel you have then perhaps it’s just general disdain for anyone below your great stature.”

Henry furrowed his brow, beginning to get frustrated now, “I assure you I treat my men, especially my soldiers, as my equals.”

This made him scoff, “Really? So you run your pitched battles with mob rule? When they told me you were inexperienced I had no idea…”

Henry could feel his face beginning to flush, “That is not what I meant.”

“So what did you mean?” the knight moved closer, levelling a challenge in his dark eyes. Henry held his ground, keeping his gaze trained on the knight’s even when he could feel his cheeks burning. “What did you mean, Henry?” The knight asked again, in such flagrant disobedience of respectful address, of courtly behaviour, of Henry’s authority, that it sent a jolt of anger running through the prince, a shock of energy he hadn’t felt in years.

“Every life that fights for me on that field will receive the respect and dignity worthy of such service, however, my authority is singular and unquestioned. My decisions may be debated, my strategies may be improved— but we will operate in a system in which my word is final. Moreover, because I am not only your commander, but soon to be your king, I expect to be addressed as such. Understood?”

A slow, wicked grin spread across the knight’s face, “Yes, I understand perfectly, Henry.”

“Your Highness,” Henry corrected.

“Oh no need for such formalities— call me Alex,” his smile was bright and Henry could feel his idiot heart beating strangely at the sight of it. He found himself unable to say anything in response, and only rolled his eyes, the effect of which was dampened by the rosy colour streaked high on his cheeks. Alex spoke again, then, “Maybe I was wrong about you. I think you will make a very interesting king.” And with that he turned to leave.

Henry decided to unpack what that meant another time, saying more immediately, “Where do you think you’re going? We’re meant to discuss our strategy.”

“What real strategy could you possibly have before actually seeing our enemy?”

“Only what I can cull from ages of research and the experience of my forebearers.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Oh, so are we to _read_ them into submission?”

“No,” Henry was at the end of his rope, he pinched the bridge of his nose, and explained patiently, as if to a child. “We are to understand them, their patterns of behaviour, and consider our offensive tactically in response to our observations.”

Alex took none too kindly to the condescension, “Well why don’t you try your dull method and we'll see how it works out for you. I’ll see you when we ride out.”

It was a moment of such baffling, unparalleled subordination that it left Henry entirely dumbstruck. And so he stood there, watching the knight leave.  
  


—

As the preparations went underway, Henry found himself tossing and turning, restless in fitful sleep. The night before they were set to embark to the camps, he had a dream. In it, he looked down at his arms, cloaked in plain brown robes instead of his usual ornate ones. He caught his reflection in a nearby basin of water, his hair looked soft on his head, absent of a crown. He walked outside, and turned back to see he had been in a little cottage nestled in the quaint countryside. He heard the soft singing of the birds, the wind whistling through the grasses as he walked towards the marketplace. He didn’t have a carriage, and he didn’t miss it.

When he arrived, he was momentarily struck by the raucousness of the stalls. The merchants yelling to sell their product, the children screaming and running around. There were fabulous street performers, patchy-robed charlatans. Young women travelled in packs with older female chaperones, young men angled to look at them as they made their way through their day’s business. The sights, the sounds, and the smells of everything were so vivid, so distracting, that he didn’t notice barrelling into a person in front of him.

The person turned around with a shout, and Henry felt a startled apology stop short on his lips when he realized who it was. Alex. He wasn’t dressed in his typical knightly attire. Rather, in a simple peasant’s shift, he still dazzled Henry, made him stop dead in his tracks, just the sight of him, eyes shining, quizzical, the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“I think I was going to yell at you,” Alex said, “But I have no idea why.”

“I— I just crashed into you, I apologize.”

“No. I— I’m glad you did.”

“Really?” Henry couldn’t stop his smile. Alex smiled back, brighter than the sun.

“Tell me, are you the farmer’s boy from down the road?”

And because, in this dream he could be, Henry said, “Yes.”

“I’ve noticed you.”

“Really?”

“It would be difficult not to.”

“How so?”

“Are you going to make me say it?”

“How else would I know what you’re talking about?”

“He’s beautiful and he’s coy.”

“Beautiful?”

“And clever too.” But there was an ironic twist to his mouth, a teasing note of sarcasm in his voice. Just then, Henry wanted nothing more than to kiss him. So he did. In broad daylight. And he felt Alex’s smile against his lips, felt the strong grip of his arms as he pulled him into a side-street, so that they weren’t quite so obtrusive. But it was a miracle. Not only that his lips felt like heaven, or that his touch made Henry’s heart sing— but the very fact that he was able do this, touch, desire, love. In his dream, no one cared who he was. No one but the gorgeous boy in his arms, kissing him senseless. The boy who pulled away, smiled, earnest and teasing all at once. Henry felt a helpless, giddy laughter bubbling up from him.

“What are you so happy about?” Alex asked him.

And he woke up.

Henry squinted into the early light. He had to very consciously unclench his jaw. This was not good. If Henry had been confused about his feelings before, he had no words for what he was to feel or think now. He landed back on his pillows with a sigh, too anxious to close his eyes again. So he summoned his attendants and got ready for the day, hours in advance.

When he encountered Alex later, in the banquet hall, he was grumpy from lack of sleep. It was imperative that he not show it. But the knight was certainly making that difficult.

“Don’t you look as fresh as a daisy,” he remarked, a wry smile hanging from his lips. Henry reminded himself not to look at Alex’s lips for too long.

“I’m sorry I cannot say the same for you,” Henry parried back before he could help himself. It was perhaps worth it to see Alex smile. He did not look bad at all, just sleep-tousled. His squire had done an adequate job of dressing him, but he still had a roughness about him, it was something carefree and uncoiffed that Henry envied.

“Some of us have to focus more preparing for war than our looks, I’m afraid.”

“Seems rather contrary to make preparations for reckless, impulsive decisions.”

“Don’t worry, Henry. As soon as we get to the camp this evening, I’ll show you just what decisions I can make.”

“Your Highness.”

“Henry,” he laughed again, staring right into Henry’s eyes, somehow inoculated despite his flagrant disrespect, “ _You’re_ the prince. See, no wonder we leave the strategizing for me.”

“And what am I here to do then? Just be a pretty face?”

“Well, yes,” Alex said, as if it were obvious, and it made a flush rise to Henry’s cheeks, at once insulted and pleased at the implication, “But that’s not all you are.”

“That’s right, because I am the chief strategist and you are the captain of the army. I am the player, you are the pawn. You follow my instructions. I cannot make that any clearer, nor shall I waste my breath trying.”

“I like it when you’re like this. Save this fire for the enemy.” Alex grinned then and made his way out through the doors. His squire followed him, and as Henry watched the young man trail behind the night, he blinked, stunned, suddenly aware that he was not alone in this room. His advisors stood around him, nervously chatting amongst themselves, making a poor show of pretending they had not been watching what had just transpired between the prince and the knight. Henry felt a terrible frustration well up inside his chest. He didn’t like the way Alex made him forget himself, how he narrowed the whole world down to his insolence, his presence, his smile. A war could not be won so distracted.   
  


—

Henry was resolute in ignoring the knight the whole ride to the camp. He took great pleasure in the way it seemed to vex him, the irritated glances he kept shooting Henry’s way did not go unnoticed. Henry knew how to play the part of the stoic prince. He had made schooling his expression practically an art-form. Alex seemed to have a harder time with this, seemed to feel everything from joy to irritation with his whole being, all at once. It was halfway entertaining to see the colour rise in his cheeks when Henry let him make snide comment and reacted in no way whatsoever. It was even a little endearing to see him try so hard to provoke Henry. But only a little. 

Their first few days at the camp passed uneventfully, with news of the approaching forces slowly trickling in gave them plenty of time to continue to plan their first moves. Henry preferred to do so by candlelight, when the rest of the soldiers were asleep, as well as the few advisors his brother had insisted he bring along. He liked the quiet solitude of the night, with only the crackle of the flame burning low outside his tent, and the chirping of distant crickets.

Luck would have it that his only fellow night-owl was the knight. It would not have been a problem if not for this— Henry’s moonlight sessions began usually once everyone had already gone to bed, the knight included. However, the battle was quickly approaching. It would be any day now and nervousness kept Henry pulled taut at all hours. He had not given any thought to whom else it might be affecting. He began planning late into the night, when he thought he was safe, his maps and charts rolled out onto his table and his candles precariously perched all around. The prince could not stand the fact that he knew Alex now just by the way he entered a tent. Without permission, he might add. He looked up, irritated, past Alex first to see what guard could have let him through without Henry’s permission. Seeing no one, Henry’s irritation only mounted higher. 

“I don’t recall sending a summons for you,” he snapped. And Alex only grinned in response. Irritated at the instantaneousness of that same pleasant warmth that began to spread in his chest, Henry looked away quickly, his eyes glued back on the map in front of him, the lines spread before his eyes twisting and meaningless. 

“I took the liberty of summoning myself.”

“Once again, that is not how this works.” 

“Sometimes, and especially in war, we have to make our own rules.”

Henry could not help rolling his eyes at this. But this meant unfortunately that he lifted his gaze, and once again it fell on Alex, and it got stuck there. 

“What do you want?” 

“Same thing as you. To win.” 

“I meant what do you want with _me_.”

Henry could have sworn he saw colour rise to Alex’s cheeks, either way his question seemed to catch the knight off guard, his gaze, his demeanour darkened all at once. He looked down and cleared his throat. It was rare that Henry saw any nervousness in the knight, and it delighted him inordinately. But the knight recovered quickly, though his speech was quicker, more halting.

“I came here to help of course. And. Well, to receive my orders. We shall encounter the enemy soon. Very soon in fact.” 

“If I did not know that all too well, then I would be asleep.” 

“You do too much, you know.”

“It’s my war. This is my task. My family name is on the line.” 

“I know this. But. It may not be the worst thing in the world to accept some help when it’s offered.”

“And I suppose you are doing the offering?”

“Is that so bad?” 

Now Henry was given pause. Alex was not so bad at all, really. He was a strong, skilled commander. He was impeccably trained, practiced, disciplined. But more than that he was vibrant, and charismatic, and so unapologetically _alive_. It made Henry jealous. It made Henry feel a lot of different, difficult feelings.

“You are not bad. Not at all. Not even close,” Henry said, and felt some of the high fortress around his heart start to crumble. This pretence, this guard, it was exhausting. And it really was so late, and he really was so tired. “I apologize... if I have made you feel that way. I'm under a lot of pressure right now.”

"I understand--"

"And it's not about you," Henry continued, unable to stop himself, "I admire you greatly." 

The air between them was suddenly charged. 

“Thank you... I, I just—” The knight began to speak but halted, frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. He paced in the small space in front of Henry’s table. He took a breath, steeling himself he rested his hands against the wood and leaned forward, fixing Henry with his gaze. “I am here to help you. To serve you, I should say. I’m your captain. It’s on my honour that we will win this war.” 

Henry felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. He looked at Alex then, really looked at him. His returning gaze was steady, and sure. But there was a flicker of something behind it. It was not that Henry had stared at Alex’s face a great deal, but just in these few days he had come to know some of his tells. Like the way he bit his lip when he was hiding something. The way he was biting his lip now. Henry laughed, finally, filling the silence, and startling the knight. “You don’t even believe we should be fighting it.”

Once again, Alex’s face was a marvel of expression. It moved from astonishment, to disbelief, and finally to that familiar mix of amusement and wonder and something, if Henry were bolder, he might call fondness. He sighed. “I won’t deny it. Fighting a war just to win glory in advance of a regime change… it’s baldfaced greed.”

Henry couldn’t help but pale a little at that comment. He didn’t necessarily want to fight this war either, and when it came to questioning Philip’s decisions, Henry was usually the first voice of dissent. Still it stung to hear the truth that he had known spoken aloud. 

“You still chose to help me fight it,” Henry said, finally. It was both a statement and a plea for reassurance. Alex sighed again, and Henry felt as though he was mining Alex’s last stores of breath, and his patience. 

“It was also reckless to send you to fight it.”

Again, Henry’s irritation mounted. “And I suppose you are to be some kind of surety for my success?”

“My only wish is to see you out of it alive.”

Another tense silence followed the knight’s words. Henry was struck by their sincerity, their earnestness, and above all their intensity. He looked away when it all got to be too much. Casting his glance down at his maps, he remembered why they were here in the first place.

Without preamble, Henry began, “I have a simple plan of attack for when the Dauphin and his army arrive.” Alex smiled, asked to hear more. And Henry explained his plan carefully, it had been the product of many sleepless nights, and Henry was proud to say that it was practically fool-proof. “And if we can keep the cavalry hidden in the trees until this first embassy is sent, we can launch our second attack while they are still weak.” Henry looked up expectantly at the knight who furrowed his brow; he did not seem convinced.

“Is there a problem?” 

“Won’t they suspect you’re playing a trick, if you were to show up with no cavalry at all?”

“We will have a few officers posted before the first battle, but they will be on the periphery. It will be enough so that they don’t question our numbers.”

“I suppose I will be leading this first charge.”

“Yes. And I will lead the second.”

At this, the knight had the audacity to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?”

“The thought of you fighting.”

“You cannot think I would let my men fight without me?” 

“That’s your brother’s wish.”

“My brother said this was my war. I am going to fight it properly.”

“I’m afraid you can’t. It’s too dangerous.” 

“Then have I been training my whole rotten life for nothing? What good did my hours with my sword-fighting master do, then? Give me an appreciation for back-aches and scabbed knees?”

Alex looked at him for a long moment then. Henry realized too late he had let his temper slip again, the unmistakable whine of irritation had bled into his voice. He pinched his mouth shut, bracing for Alex’s response to the momentary gap he’d shown in his armour. The slow spread of the knight’s smile was unbearable.

“I’ll tell you what, we’ll spar, right now. If you beat me, then you fight.”

“Why should I have to prove myself to you? I’m your commander.”

“I forget myself. Pardon my phrasing then, my liege,” Henry frowned at the way Alex used the honorific, coated in sarcasm. His frown deepened when Alex bent down in an exaggerated bow. “Just show me how you fight. I won’t question you again. I’ll be a perfect saint, I’ll take every command with a smile and a ‘Yes, your highness.’” Now another strange feeling took hold of Henry, a building heat in his stomach at the way Alex looked at him from under those long dark eyelashes.

It was that familiar, dreaded, burn of desire, and in Henry’s panic to quell it, he simply blurted, “Yes. Alright then.”

And Alex’s answering grin stoked the flames even higher. Henry distracted himself quickly with a thought to the logistics.

“I suppose we can’t now, it’s dark out.”

“Is it?” The knight asked, quirking a brow. He walked over to the tent’s opening and, parting the flap, he revealed the rosy sky of early dawn. Another night’s sleep lost, Henry sighed. Wordlessly he walked up to the knight at the door. He took a small amount of pleasure at looking down at Alex, the scant measure of their height difference, when he was brushing past him, and all his intoxicating proximity, as he slipped out of the tent.

The knight ran up ahead to his own tent, where he happened to keep a pair of wooden swords. As, in his words, “skill is nothing without practice.” Alex offered the hilt of a sword to Henry, grinned when their hands brushed as he moved to take it. They moved into position, awkwardly, around the fire pit outside of Henry’s tent.

Alex was watching Henry carefully, and Henry evaluated him the same. Henry admired the knight’s easy stance. But it was in his distraction that Alex advanced first, bringing the sword up in an arc directed at Henry’s shoulder. He reacted quickly, blocking the swing with his own sword, but just barely. His feet skittered in retreat.

“Would it have been asking too much of you to give me a warning?”

“In war, the enemy gives you no warnings.”

“Well, in these ridiculous bargains I make to appease your ego, a warning would be nice.”

“Come on, your highness, pick up the pace!” Alex parried again, and once again Henry blocked. His swings now carried a quiet fury, urged on by the knight’s gentle mocking. He realized, distantly, that that had been precisely Alex’s aim. But the knight was gaining on him, his speed and subtle control of his strength were impressive, as much as Henry was loath to admit it.

But then, the tides turned suddenly in the prince’s favour. It was only a small stumble. Perhaps astone had caught under Alex’s foot. It was a stumble nonetheless. And Henry had been taught never to let such an opportunity slip away. All at once, Henry was upon him. He used his height to his advantage, crowding up against the knight, slipping his own blade behind Alex’s and tugging to dislodge it from his grip. He sent it flying, and pushed Alex’s stumble into an all out fall. Now with the knight on his back staring up at him, the tip of Henry’s wooden sword rested at the base of his neck, he flashed his blinding smile up at the prince once again.

“Not bad at all.”

Henry huffed out a breath, pleased. “We’re only getting started.”

Somehow Alex’s grin grew brighter, he propped himself up on his elbows, pushing his chest up against Henry’s sword. Henry lifted it away and offered Alex a hand instead. He took it gladly, and the prince hoisted him to his feet. And suddenly the space between them was negligible, and in these early hours before dawn, charged in some unspeakable way. Henry looked down into Alex’s eyes, for perhaps the first time for real. A dark, bottomless gaze framed by long, gorgeous eyelashes.

“Another round, then, Henry?” The knight asked, finally, breaking the strange trance between them once again.

“I believe you promised to call me ‘your highness,’ from now on.”

“Maybe if you win best of three.”

—

When the day finally came for their first battle, Henry felt much calmer than he’d ever imagined he could be in a situation such as this. He looked out into the foggy morning, atop his horse. It was early, but Henry was awake as always. He could attribute his calm perhaps to the fact that he had indeed been sleeping more. After their first sparring session, Alex had held him to early morning practices. He felt like a child again, beholden to a routine, the thrill of play, his muscles sore from exertion. It had done wonders for his sleep. After a long day, exhaustion washed over him like a balm, sending him into smooth and blissfully dreamless slumber. Though he still worked and planned against the thrum of constant anxiety in his chest, normally it would be overwhelming; he would be driving himself to madness. His newfound calm was unfamiliar, but welcome. 

But then he heard a horse trotting up behind him. He glanced back. Only his knight. He heard himself. When did he start thinking about Alex as _his?_ Before he could panic about it Alex began to speak.

“Get your last look of it now.”

“What?”

“The field. All quiet like this.”

As Henry looked, really looked down upon it, some deep-buried well of emotion began to rise in his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes without his permission. This was not behaviour befitting a prince. Let alone a prince about to lead his men into battle. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the futility of this all. What had Alex called it? _Baldfaced greed_. He trained his glance downwards, trying to face away from the knight as best as he could.

“Henry?” Alex noticed anyway. “Everything alright?”

Henry quickly blinked the tears away, cleared his throat before answering. “I don’t want to be a king like Philip. Greedy. Wasting innocent lives, the lives of my men, in order to gain some empty power or glory.”

“Henry.” The tone of the knight’s voice, not just the command it carried, but the emotion behind it, drew Henry’s eyes to him. He gazed back. There was something grave in his expression. “I apologize if my words have made you doubt yourself. I won’t recant them. My feelings are the same. But. I think in this situation, you are handling it the most capably you can. And. Once you are king, things can change. You can change them.”

“I will,” Henry said, and it sounded like a promise. Perhaps it was. If only to see a smile like the one the knight was wearing then, just once more.

“Let’s not delay, then,” Alex said, leading his horse back to where the men were emerging from their tents, readying themselves for the battle at hand. As he rode through the camp, Henry took the time to talk to the men he passed by, a gentle word to rouse their spirits, an expression of his thanks for their service. He would leave the true rallying cries to their captain.

Alex delivered just as he hoped. His horse sauntered steadily, weaving in and around the men as he hoisted his sword high. His voice was like a beacon, a clarion call.

“Today, my fellow soldiers, I ask you to take courage. To look beyond yourselves. To look to a future that we can make better. Brave this moment of violence for a peace that will last. I believe it in my heart, that if we fight for the right leader, he will deliver us change. He will deliver us the world that we have always dreamed of living in. Peace and prosperity for all. Land and resources. Growing fields and booming industry. I believe with everything in me that our prince is that leader. So look beyond. Look ahead. For the Mountchristen name! For England!”

As the men began to take their position, sizing up their opponents opposite them, and Henry watched as Alex seemed to breathe life back into them. There was something of his irresistible spirit that was sent through their forces, making the cavalry men sit a little straighter in their saddles, making the foot-soldiers stand tall and alert. Henry watched from a wooded area, well behind the troops, his own fleet of cavalry resting low behind him. Their plan was in motion.

The first fleet attacked. They met their opponents like a storm, like a dark and violent fog descending upon the field. Henry made himself watch. He kept his eyes trained on the melee. In the past, when he had gone along with his father and his brother, he had never been able to watch the carnage. Something about it stirred a deep disquiet in him, an inherent sense of wrongness. He knew he lived in a world where violence like this was omnipresent, inevitable. But everything in his being only ever desired peace.

He took a few shaky breaths in and out. Then he turned, signalled for his men to move. And thus came the second onslaught. As predicted, they caught the Dauphin’s army by surprise. In the ensuing chaos— and Henry waited for it— they stumbled. And Henry’s army surged, taking advantage of their gaffe, and at once gaining ground. In among the horrible clang of metal against metal, the cries of the men below, the fierce whinnying of the horses, Henry fought as valiantly as he knew how. He sent down his sword with all the force in his body. He breathed through the bloodshed.

And then he heard someone shout, a few feet over, “Henry!” His attention turned. It was his knight. “Behind you!” And Henry’s reflexes went off like a shot. He ducked low on his horse, and felt only the wind of the sword, far too close for comfort. In seconds, he turned back, and jabbed his own sword behind him, sending the soldier careening off his horse.

Henry rose up cautiously, and twisted back to catch Alex’s eye. The knight gave him a grim smile, which Henry returned. But he didn’t smile for long.

Perhaps it had been for vengeance, or perhaps the soldier had seen the opportunity to attack the head and end the battle decisively, or perhaps he had caught the way Henry’s stare was stuck, distracted. It was a stumble. It only took a moment for someone to recognize it, and take advantage.

Which is how Henry found the world falling away from beneath his feet. Propelled by the butt of a French soldier’s sword, shoved into his shoulder, causing him to careen backwards off of his horse. He landed with a dull thud in the soft, muddy ground. Immediately he was kicked and trampled by the horde of unseeing soldiers. Dazed from his fall, he could not have been sure whether they were his own men or the enemy.

But then he saw a sight he would recognize anywhere: the unmistakable blade of a sword. It was pointed in his face, the soldier was silent, or perhaps Henry just couldn’t hear. But he could see the arc of it, the force of it coming down in a plunge. He braced for an impact that never came. Instead he heard the blade clang against another. The precious seconds it bought him let him scramble back up to his feet. His horse was gone, no matter. He still had his sword in his scabbard and he drew it before even looking up to see what had happened.

Alex. The knight had saved him. He was in a grapple now with the man who could have ended his life, their swords were close and Alex pressed forward upon the soldier, attempting to dislodge his weapon. Henry moved closer, whether to help, or to dodge a blade coming from another angle, he wasn’t sure. But as soon as the French soldier saw him, he advanced, swinging his blade wildly, aiming for the weak spot of Henry’s armour just at his waist.

Once again, Alex dove in to stop it. But this time. Alex was hurt.

Henry could not have described what possessed him then— there was no thought. Only feeling. And it drove him, like a coal-stoked flame, to swing his sword with abandon, cut the soldier down. As soon as he had fallen, Henry turned his attention to Alex, dragging him off the battlefield, calling blindly for help.

He was numb to the world, barely cognizant of what was going on. Only one pulsing, violent thought remained in his mind:

Alex was hurt. 

—

“Take him in through here!” Henry had never quite gotten his voice to take on that booming sort of command that his father and Philip had always had, and even Beatrice when she was really cross, but perhaps Henry had never had the occasion to use such a voice. Perhaps it had always rested somewhere in his throat, waiting to be propelled by urgency. And there could be no more urgent a situation than now. 

Henry’s eyes darted anxiously to where the red was blooming across the linens set to staunch Alex’s wounds. The knight’s brow was beaded with sweat, he was pale, and his breaths looked shaky and painful. Henry watched from a safe distance as the medic worked, wringing his hands. And it’s not as if their medic wasn’t capable. He was deft and emotionless in the way someone who had seen a lot of death tended to be. Though he was careful, he was rough with Alex, and it was the third time that Henry noticed him wince with pain that he found he could no longer stand it. And he had to take matters into his own hands. 

“You are dismissed, sir,” he said to the medic, who looked up at him quizzically. “I will take over from here.” This did nothing to assuage his confusion. 

“Your highness, I’m quite certain your friend will be alright. I simply need to administer these stitches and a balm and—”

“I will do it. You are dismissed. And that’s an order.” 

Alex was watching this whole exchange with a strange expression, somewhere between confusion and amusement. But it turned to outright amusement as Henry sat before him, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow as he began the very unprincely job of stitching up Alex’s side. Alex looked up at him curiously, having calmed down somewhat, he gritted his teeth against the pain and spoke, still so irreverent that it made Henry think he would be just fine.

“Why bother employing a medic if the prince himself attends to the injured?” 

“I am aware… that this is unusual. I’ve just… I’ve studied this, I know how to do this just as well as him.”

“But it’s not your job.”

“You got this wound protecting me. It _is_ my job.”

“So then after you heal me, we’re even?”

“If that’s your price.”

“Hm. No.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not enough. I mean, I made a valiant sacrifice. I jumped in front of a blade for you! You’re only playing nurse.”

“You could bleed out!" Henry tied the final, emphatic stitch. "I’m saving your life too.”

“I want something else, too.”

“Okay, what?”

“No, you have to promise it to me first. Anything.”

Henry was silent for a moment. He watched Alex watch his fingers work, cleaning the wound carefully before he wrapped it once more. He met Alex's eyes. “Anything.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

“What is it, then?”

“I will disclose that at a later date.” 

“You’re insufferable.”

“You would be dead right now without me.” The thought of that made Henry’s fingers involuntarily tighten where they held Alex’s torso, he caught sight of Alex’s flinch and felt immediately sorry, smoothing his hand down the spot he had pinched. Then, curiously, he felt Alex shiver. When Henry looked up again, Alex had turned away, but Henry could still see the soft flush on his cheeks. The moment was strange, filled with tension.

“I am okay, you know,” Alex said then, his voice was soft. Softer than it usually was when he addressed Henry. Its low, gravelly quality made Henry feel hot all over. 

“You almost weren’t.”

“Almost is the key phrase here.”

“You have to be more careful.”

“I will. Next time.”

It was their distinct luck that there would be a next time after all. The battle had started well, but it had careened off course after Alex’s injury. Even with their captain off of the field and their prince an utter mess, they had somehow unconsciously won the other side’s retreat. Now it was up to them to advance. Henry’s exhaustion was bone deep, and he couldn’t imagine how it felt for his soldiers. They had lost a few in this battle, they would have to recoup and learn to cope. Henry had nearly lost his mind over a flesh wound in Alex. He was only just now beginning to recover some sense of perspective. 

He had a greater feeling, however, that something irreversible had happened to his heart. It had perhaps happened a long time ago, but now it was becoming impossible to ignore.

— 

“I understand his highness needs a bit more convincing, but I assure you, there is no one better suited to _do_ said convincing but _me_.”

Henry heard Alex exhausting the guard posted outside of his tent, and couldn’t help but smile to himself at the frustration he was causing. Let the man simmer for a bit, he thought. He deserved to feel even a fraction of the vexation he caused Henry on a daily basis. 

“The prince has requested no visitors,” Shaan dutifully repeated for what had to be at least the fifth time. 

“I am not a visitor. I am his captain. I’m… I’m his friend! Look. Henry?” Now Alex had started to shout. But Henry’s mind had snagged on something. _Friends._ Is that what they were? 

“Henry! See, why would he let me call him that if we weren’t friends? Henry!” 

“I never actually gave you permission to call me that.” Henry poked his head out of the tent. He was an excessively merciful prince. And patient too. He was starting to think Alex was right. If dealing with that knight was any indication for the future, he might make a decent king after all. 

“Can you please tell this… kind and loyal guard of yours to let me in?”

He gave Shaan a simple nod, and he acquiesced, with a long-suffering expression. Alex began to speak before Henry could even close the tent flap behind them.

“Richards told me you plan to keep me out of the next battle, and if that isn’t the worst piece of strategy I have ever heard, then I don’t know what is.”

“Are you quite finished?”

“No I’m not quite finished. I am your captain. The troops can’t fight without my lead. Beyond that, I’m your best soldier. Without me, no battle will be won. And you’re blind if you can’t see that.”

“You’re quite confident in your abilities.” 

“I believe I have _proven_ my abilities. I have _proven_ them time and time again and I don’t understand why— oh. You bastard.”

By now, Henry could not contain his laughter. His shoulders were shaking with it. He had to clasp a hand over his mouth and turn away, before he doubled over in laughter. When he turned back, he saw Alex had a familiar grin on his face. 

“You think that’s funny, do you?”

“Oh, you should have heard yourself! So earnest! It’s a wonder you didn’t become an orator. Or join a player’s group!”

“I’m serious, Henry,” he said, though still with a small smile. 

“I know. I spoke with the doctor, and he said you should be in good shape to fight in a few days time.”

“Is that it? My injury?”

“It is no minor matter,” Henry could hear the way his voice turned. Suddenly serious. He surprised himself with it. But he wasn’t surprised by the emotion he felt rising in his chest. He tried to keep his voice as level as possible. “It was a terrible wound. And it is miraculous that you have recovered as quickly as you have. You could have not recovered at all. And then where would we be? Where would _I_ be… without…?”

Henry trailed off, realizing, with a start, that Alex had moved closer. “Henry, I’m okay. You don’t have to make yourself sick with worry over… over me.”

The way Alex gazed into his eyes conjured a maelstrom in Henry’s chest. Surges of affection, and fondness, and awe, and a dangerous devotion rushed together. They left Henry feeling almost unstable on his feet, if not for the anchor point of Alex, alive and breathing and standing there, so close to him. The thought of it felt like a lurch in his stomach, a kick to his fugitive impulse, and Henry knew he had to retreat. Physically he took a step back. He turned away, to school his expression once more. Making his voice cold, he spoke.

“Well, you know my ascendancy to the throne depends on us winning this war. So. That’s all it is. I can’t have my captain ill at the helm of my forces. You know.” Henry heard the way his voice faltered at the end there. Alex could not have missed it. This weak excuse. And yet, when Henry looked back up at him, the knight’s expression seemed to sober somewhat. He cleared his throat and looked away.

“Like I said. You don’t have to worry. We’ll get that done for you. If you’ll excuse me.” And with that, and a strange unease left in the air, Alex turned on his heel and left the tent. The insolence of the action stung a bit. Leaving an audience with the prince without a dismissal was highly against custom. But then again, he had never known Alex to obey custom. It wasn’t as if Henry really minded enough to punish him for it. In his own mind he found decorum to be terribly fussy and needlessly complicated. He liked that about Alex. The knight cut through all that was unnecessary. He got to what was real.

And perhaps that was the whole problem. That he had cut right to Henry’s heart. And now too much was on display, too much was at risk. Henry fell asleep that night with a troubled mind. The unease of his last meeting with Alex would not leave him. And it entered his dreams.

In his dreams, he found himself in a soft bed. Beside him was the knight, stretched out in all his golden-skinned splendour. His chest was bare, and it rose and fell with the soft rhythm of his breaths. Henry looked down at his own body, he was wearing nothing but a loose shift for sleeping. The room was dark but for the small fire that burned in the hearth, a ways away from the bed. The implications of what this room meant, of what they could have done, sent a heat rushing through Henry’s body unmatched by anything he had felt before. 

Taking a breath, Henry turned himself so he was on his side, and could better look at Alex’s sleeping form. He was so beautiful, Henry couldn’t help himself, reaching out to run a hand along his chest, from his breastbone down to his navel. The knight stirred at his touch. His brown eyes opened, glinting in the firelight, and he turned to smile at Henry.

Henry’s heart felt like it was yawning open. “Come here, love,” he breathed. The affection spilled out of him, helplessly, and he curled closer, looping his arm around Alex’s chest. The knight moved closer as well and nuzzled his face in the crook of Henry’s shoulder. 

“Don’t let me go,” the knight whispered, and his grip on Henry tightened. 

“I couldn’t. Not ever.” 

But suddenly, Henry felt something warm and slick beneath his hands, where they rested on Alex’s waist. He brought them up closer to his eyes, and looked down at them. His breath left his body when he saw, in the dim light of the room, that his hands were coated in blood. He nudged Alex, shakily asking him if he was okay, calling his name, but Alex was still, unresponsive, pale— dead? 

Henry woke with a gasp. A jittering panic gripped his chest and he looked around his sleeping quarters, desperately trying to reorient himself in the real world. He took shaking, gasping breaths, trying anything to calm himself. His hands trembled where he clutched his blankets around himself. But slowly, his mind came back together. The room he was in was awash in blue, lit only by the moonlight streaming in from the tent’s seams. It was nothing like the warm glow of his dream, shattered by that horrible, horrible sight. Henry felt the first few tears prickle at his eyes at the thought of it, and he let them fall, being alone. But soon he was taking shuddering, sobbing breaths. 

He didn’t know what to do with all that he was feeling. The deep and irresistible pull of yearning. The terror of all he could lose. The heartbreak to preempt heartbreak. It was overwhelming. 

He spent another night sleepless. When he awoke, he called Shaan again to make sure he would have no visitors. And none came. Not even a small nuisance he’d been hoping for. He took it as a sign, compounded it to his grief. All that he was feeling was doubtlessly and desperately one-sided. The knowledge of that did not make the feeling stop. He tried, then, in all his distraction to focus on the plan for their next battle. 

It was fast approaching. They would decamp and begin their move the next day. Their hope was to recapture a fortress, which the French army had recently seized. They would emancipate the people of the town, and drive the soldier back across the channel. It was a huge undertaking. Henry’s head pounded from his lack of sleep, but also the near impossibility of this task. The lines on the map in front of him began to swim together. 

He hated that all he wanted was Alex right now. Nothing but his presence. It was all he needed to calm down, to feel safe and stable once more. But his pride wouldn’t let him call for the knight. Neither would his small instinct for self-preservation, which knew that the more he saw the knight, the harder he would fall. If he wasn’t all gone already.

So he tried to sleep again. He saw the knight the next morning, unavoidably, as the troops were riding out. His horse fell into step beside Henry’s own. 

“You look awful,” was how the knight greeted him. And Henry knew he was joking. If he were brave enough to look over, he imagined he might see the knight’s sardonic smile. But Henry didn’t feel like joking right now. He urged his horse forward, passing by the knight wordlessly.

But Alex followed him. “Henry?” Alex’s voice was now soaked in sincereness. Henry still couldn’t look at him. He focused on where his hands were curled into the reins of his horse. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” Henry said finally. Speaking just those two words took a Herculean effort. 

“I know you aren’t. You can tell me what’s wrong.”

Henry sighed. He should have known Alex would press. “I have been having trouble sleeping. That’s all. I’ve been anxious. About the battle coming up.”

“We should start sparring again. You said that helped you sleep.”

“I don’t have time anymore. I need to focus on winning this.”

“We will win, Henry. I know we will. And you will get us there.”

Henry could not find the words to respond. 

“Henry, is everything alright, I mean… with us? Did I say something to make you angry with me?”

“No, no,” Henry finally managed to look at the knight. What he saw gave him pause. Alex looked oddly pale, and there were rings around his eyes. As if he hadn’t been sleeping either. “Are you well? How is your wound?” 

“It’s fine. It’s healing.”

“I apologize for being so reclusive lately. I should have checked on you more.” 

“Don’t apologize. I missed you, though.” 

Henry felt his heart pick up its pace, ever so slightly. “We shall fight side by side this time.” 

“Is that a promise?”

It was a promise. He had planned it out. Alex’s returning smile was worth it all, the danger they would go through, the losses they might incur. 

They rode next to one another the rest of the way. When they finally parted as it was time to set up the encampment, Henry was loathe to let Alex leave. And perhaps it was wishful thinking, but he could have sworn he’d seen some hint of regret in Alex’s parting gaze. That night, Henry slept, entirely dreamless. 

When the day of the battle came, Henry’s forces rushed in like a flood. They overtook the other army in good time, Henry’s guidance and Alex’s command on horseback led the charge in an organized, methodical manner. They called to each other, bounced off of each other. They worked like Henry had never worked with anyone before, their harmony was unmistakable. And the soldiery could sense it. They fought with a renewed gusto, a kind of inspiration Henry hadn’t seen in them yet. But their goal was so close, and well in sight this time. 

Just beyond the battlefield, high with its towers, stood a fortress, long-lost to French troops. Having it there, just in their line of sight, helped stoke those fires even higher. The motivation to fight had never quite manifested itself in such attainable, visible goals before. 

It was by the novelty of this sight, and by the rallying cries, the carefully crafted battle plan that Henry and his forces won the day. They pushed the French soldiers further into retreat, even vacating them from the fortress. Henry did not prefer to take prisoners of war, or execute excessively. When he absolutely had to imprison, he made sure personally that they were treated humanely. He had seen too many horrible things in his time accompanying his brother and his father in wars like these. He would be a different king, he would rule with compassion. 

When the fortress had been cleared finally, the soldiers gathered around Henry, eager to hear their next instructions. 

“My army. You have fought with bravery and valiance beyond anything I could have dreamed. You have made your prince proud. You have made your kingdom proud. Though there is some of the battle yet to go, tonight we take a much deserved rest. Tonight, you will rest your weary souls, and rejoice in the abundance your bravery has brought us. For tonight, we feast!”

A round of cheers roared through the crowd. The squires and hired help then swiftly began preparations to feed the prince’s sizeable force. Henry watched the work unfold, proud of how far they had come, and all they had accomplished. 

As if sensing his buoyant mood, Alex drew closer to him, weaving his way through the crowd. When Alex was before him, everyone else faded away. For once, Henry’s grin matched his. 

“You did well,” he said, his voice soft.

“Bit of an understatement.”

“You did magnificently!” The exaggerated tone of Alex’s voice startled a giggle out of Henry. Alex laughed with him too, and soon they were in stitches with their laughter. But Henry quickly sobered when he caught Alex clutching his side, the one that had been injured. He moved closer, resting a hand on the knight’s shoulder. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, it’s fine.” But the words sounded strained. 

“Can I take you to the medic?” 

“No, Henry, I swear. I think I just pulled at it.”

“Please tell me if anything feels wrong. You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

“Yes. Yes. I will. Don’t worry your crown is safe.” There was a bitterness to Alex’s voice that made something in Henry’s heart wrench. 

“That has nothing to do with this,” Henry said, too fast, “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

The air between them stilled then, and Henry felt his cheeks grow hot. He hadn’t meant to reveal quite so much. Alex looked at him strangely, a pretty blush blooming across his tan cheeks. 

“It’s nice,” Alex finally said, “that you care about me so much. I haven’t had anyone care about me like that in a long time.”

Alex had to know that he held Henry’s heart, bare and trembling, in his hands. Henry had been so obvious. The embarrassment of that all on display was burning through him. But still, he couldn’t find it in him to take anything back.

“How could I not?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Alex’s eyes were fixed on Henry’s. There was no joke in them then. Only a serious, burning intensity, that made Henry want to squirm, find any reason to escape it. At the same time, he felt that he was finally truly being seen. Alex opened his mouth once more. 

“Henry I—”

“Sir Alexander!” They were interrupted. It was Alex’s squire. He whisked the knight away on some urgent errand concerning his horse. He glanced back at Henry apologetically before going. Henry was left with a strange feeling, of something unsaid that needed to be out. 

He went, dazed, on his own way to prepare for the banquet. But the feeling never left him. And he wasn’t sure when it would. 

—

The fires burned high as the sound of music and laughter filtered through the air. Meats crackled on spits, and soldiers spirits soared as they toasted to their victory, to their valiance, to their prince. Henry sat at the centre of it all, showered by praises, but hearing nothing. He was hopelessly distracted, listless, and picking at his food. 

He could not explain what had happened to him, what worry was gnawing at his heart, buried somewhere deep inside. He could not explain, and yet he knew. He knew in his soul what it was. Love was like that. It had been a stranger to him all his life, and now it felt uncomfortably close, achingly familiar; a houseguest having long overstayed their welcome; a tick buried in his side. It was a nuisance, a painful sticking bother. And yet it was also the most incredible warmth, it was a feeling of joy in the moments one expected it the least, it was an eternal flame.

It was his knight. Strangely absent from the feast. Or if he was there, he was lost in the sea of raucous, celebrating soldiers. He had not come to see Henry. 

“Are the festivities lacking for you in any way, your highness?” He heard his brother’s advisor Richards ask, sounding distant, as if in another room altogether. Henry donned his best, most princely smile. 

“Not in the least! Have them bring more drink to our tables, let us rejoice!”

Richards did as he was asked, and Henry deflated once more as soon as he was not under his watchful eye. More drink was not a bad idea at all. Raising his goblet he took a deep swig of the rich wine that filled it. It warmed him, made him feel a bit looser, and a bit more numb.

Then, a rattle of the doors, and all eyes cast their gaze there. Alex and his squire and a few other men Henry probably should have recognized, and would have if his mind were not all-consumed by his knight’s presence, and if Alex were not looking at him like that, as if he were the only person in the crowded banquet hall.

Breaking apart from his men, Alex weaved through the crowd until he reached Henry, the seat beside him that he had pathetically been saving. 

“Sorry I’m late, hopefully my men haven’t drunk you dry.” 

“There’s plenty to go around,” Henry fought to keep an idiotic grin off of his face, instead smiling what he hoped was a normal amount. He felt like he couldn’t contain his joy when he was around Alex, which was something he had never experienced before.

“And are you actually relaxing or is your mind already setting upon the next battle?”

In truth, Henry had not thought of it. He hadn’t thought of much besides Alex. So he did not have to lie when he said, “I am revelling in all this delightful distraction.”

“Your brother used to host feasts like this.”

“I remember.” 

“And your father, too.” Henry felt that familiar twinge of grief in his chest, that always came when his father was mentioned. 

“You knew him?”

“I met him once, when I was little. You look just like him. You _are_ just like him.”

Henry could not keep his voice from breaking if he tried, “How so?” 

“You are brave, and kind, and brilliant, and handsome.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“Everyone does.”

“But _you_ think so?”

Henry had never caught out the knight like this before. Never seen him so flustered. The high colour in his cheeks made him all the more entrancing to look upon. Eventually he met Henry’s gaze head-on, and the intensity of it was like looking into the sun.

“I want you to come meet me in my chambers tonight. At midnight.”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to you. I have a battle strategy of my own.”

_Oh._ So it was just business then? Henry was not sure how well he masked his disappointment. “Alright. I will meet you, then.”

“Wonderful.” And with that the knight got up and left. Henry watched him as he joined a table with some of the other soldiers. He fell back into easy conversation, laughing and joking with them. He did not glance back at Henry once. 

And Henry had certain instincts for self-preservation. But if they were worth anything they would have kicked in long ago. He swallowed past the strange mix of confusion, longing, and something akin to betrayal that sat like a stone in his throat. He focused on the meal in front of him. Drank a lot of wine. Tasted nothing.

—

Henry felt like the most incredible fool, his fist hanging in the air, hovering before the wood of the door. He did not know what force he could have summoned that made him knock on that door, just three short raps, but it was enough. The die had been cast. 

But this had all been feeling distressingly irreversible for a while now. 

No less when Alex opened the door, his hair mussed, cheeks flushed from the evening’s wine, lips so rosy it looked like he had had some brought up to his room as well. He was undone, in only his soft trousers and flowing white shift, its laces loosened exposing the rich brown skin beneath, curling with soft wisps of black hair. Henry ignored the itch in his fingers at the sight of it, cast his gaze away, cleared his throat.

“Come in,” the knight said, as if remembering himself, broken from some mutual trance. 

Henry complied, but said nothing. Words were still coming back to him, nervous and piecemeal. So he occupied himself by glancing at the knight’s humble accommodations. The fireplace was lit, casting the whole room in a warm orange light. The room was all dusky tones of brown. The bed was in the centre of the room, lined with furs. Henry nearly sighed in a combination of fatigue and yearning at the sight of it. 

“Would you like some more wine?” Alex offered. Henry’s attention snapped back. 

“No thank you. I think I’ve had quite enough.” 

“Have it your way.” The knight shrugged and filled his own glass. In an effort to look anywhere but Alex’s lips and throat as he took a deep drink, Henry cast his gaze around the room again, this time landing on where Alex’s armour and sword were arrayed.

“When you asked me up here I wasn’t sure…” Henry began, but he couldn’t finish his sentence. It was what he saw, nestled among the rest of Alex’s things, that stole the words from his mouth. 

“Henry?” 

It was unmistakable. The blood red of the cloth, delicately embroidered with the insignia of the Mountchristen family. It hung neatly next to Alex’s coat. Henry was mesmerized by the memory of it as his eyes took it in, he moved closer, helplessly drawn, and he took it into his hand, thumb smoothing over the delicate material. Its condition was a little worse than he remembered it, like it had been worn down by years of being worn, carried around— it was even clumsily mended in some places. Then, Henry felt Alex’s presence close at his shoulder, he turned, still holding the token in his hands. 

“You kept my sister’s token,” he said, willing his voice to lie smoothly, “All these years?” 

Alex looked at him curiously, his brow was furrowed, but there were the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. “Henry, I know I’m not a genius like you but you cannot truly think me that stupid.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Henry’s hands tightened on the cloth, and then tensed more when Alex’s hands joined his, a loose grip on the fabric, they now held it in the negligible space between them. 

Alex seemed to carefully consider his words before he spoke, Henry could almost see him weighing the options in his head before he finally spoke, “This is yours.”

Henry swallowed past the lump in his throat, he could feel the heat high in his cheeks, “How could you possibly know that?” He said, not denying it. It was past that point now. 

Alex’s gaze was intense, and he had somehow moved closer, the smile had fallen off his face now, and he looked uncharacteristically serious. “You know, I took this with me, to that first tourney. And I won. So I took it to my second one, too. And to every one since. I took it into battle. It gave me great comfort, knowing that someone was thinking of me. I—I wanted that someone to be you. So I always believed it was.”

“It was me,” Henry managed, his grip on the fabric turned his knuckles white. Alex looked at him, his head slightly cocked to the side, he laughed but it was mirthless. 

“But you would never acknowledge me. You would never look at me. I didn’t know what to do. So I tried to make myself hate you. Believed you were pompous and above us all. Until... until I got to know you and learned exactly the impossibility of my task. How could I hate you, my prince? How could anyone?” 

“Alex. You know I couldn’t... say anything.”

“We’ve been dancing around each other long enough.”

“I can’t.”

“But do you want to?”

Henry had to think, and he scrambled desperately, because of course he did, it was the only thing he’d ever wanted: love, companionship, Alex. But he’d never imagined he could be allowed to have it. But faced with Alex’s question, the challenge in his eyes, all at once the immenseness of his desire became more than he could handle. 

“Yes,” he said, for once in his life completely certain, and he tugged Alex forward by the cloth, leaned in so his forehead was resting on Alex’s. Then, his eyes tightly closed, concentrating on the rise and fall of his chest, Henry said the final, impossible, irretrievable words, “You’re all I want.”

Like a man possessed, he surged forwards for a brief, and blissful moment catching Alex’s lips with his own. It was to make his point clearer, that was all. His head felt dizzy, immediately drunk on that minute of delicious pressure. Before he could lose his senses completely he pulled away, but Alex drew him back, his hands still fisted in the token, he mimicked Henry’s action, pulled it forward and Henry came willingly with it, and was upon his lips once more. He only pulled away when the need for air was too much. Henry took the token then, gently from their hands, and he wrapped it loosely around Alex’s neck, and pulled him closer. Alex’s hands, now free, roamed immediately up Henry’s back, to the nape of his neck, brushing against the short hairs there. It sent shivers down Henry’s spine. For his part, Henry did what he had always wanted and ran his fingers through the dark lushness of Alex’s hair. Clearly appreciating the attention, Alex made a small sound of pleasure, leaned into the touch. He looked just as dazed as Henry felt, his lips plump and shining, his eyes still shut, long, dark lashes fanning over his cheeks. It was more than Henry could take.

He decided to do something about it. Wordlessly, but with a question in his eyes and a determination in his step, he walked Alex over to the bed.

Alex opened his eyes then and looked at Henry, fierce and burning, and he said, “Yes, now.”

And Henry pressed him down into the soft down of the mattress, he leaned close, hovered just above his lips. “That is, unless you wanted to talk about battle strategy?”

The knight groaned, frustrated, but he laughed at Henry as well, swatting gently at his head. “You’re the battle, Henry, and if you would just cooperate, I think I could carry us both to a very satisfying victory.” The glint in his eye was wild, his desire obvious where their bodies pressed together, flushed with the heat of proximity. 

“By all means, don’t let me stop you.” And Henry kissed him, and revelled in the feeling of kissing him. The wildfire warmth of touch, of closeness after so long spent yearning. 

Alex’s hands made quick work of Henry’s clothes, unlacing his doublet and casting aside the gauzy shift underneath. His fingers caught in the laces of Henry’s breeches, making them both laugh, but the laugh died in Henry’s throat, making way for gasping and keening as Alex’s touch found him, ready and wanting. Alex kissed him and whispered against his mouth, “If you keep making sounds like that you’ll drive me mad.”

“You’re already mad,” Henry said, biting down on another moan as Alex moved his hips just so. 

“I was fine before I met you,” Alex said, sighing when Henry carded his hands through the knight’s beautiful thick hair.

“And how are you know?” 

“Better.” 

And then Alex kissed Henry in a way that took his breath away, tenderly cupping his cheek as he pressed their lips together in a delirious rhythm. And there was no more time for talking, only touch, and the soft sounds of pleasure that followed. Henry had heard once that time moves slower for lovers, and now he knew it was true. Though he was inexperienced at this, Alex made him feel comfortable, and safe. Slowly, with gentle and inviting touches, Alex coaxed Henry’s body until it was pliant and eagerly asking for more. Henry felt like he could live forever in the warm orange glow with his knight. Alex’s hands tangled in his hair, Henry’s hands everywhere. They kissed and kissed and breathed the same air. They held each other so close, it felt like they would never be apart again. Henry never wanted it to end.

And yet, they were soon tired, wrung out with pleasure, wrapped up in one another still. When Alex got up, Henry was loathe to let him go. But he returned quickly, with a washcloth dipped in the small basin in the room, and he cleaned them both up. As soon as he was done, he wrapped himself around Henry once more, and Henry breathed a sigh into his shoulder. Alex pulled the furs around them, making them cozier still.

“I can’t believe you knew that token was mine. And I thought I was so clever.” 

“Beatrice told me right away, when she handed it to me.” 

Henry inwardly cursed his traitorous sister. He buried his face further in the crook of Alex’s shoulder in his embarrassment. Alex laughed, and Henry could feel his body shaking with it.

“Either way, you were completely obvious.”

“I was?”

“Maybe not always. And maybe sometimes it was wishful thinking.” 

Henry sighed, looking up at Alex, he idly traced his fingers along the knight’s collarbone. “To think how I was dreading all of this. Coming here.”

“To my room, or to the war in general?” 

“The war, of course.”

“You’ve fought well. I know I’m hard on you, but you’re strong, and capable, and you know you’re brilliant.”

“You still think we shouldn’t have fought.”

“I think this was Philip’s bad decision not yours. I think you will make better ones.”

Henry hid his face against Alex’s chest. “I don’t even want to be king.”

“Henry.” The knight’s voice was strange, but he wasn’t sure what it meant. He tried to explain himself.

“It was never supposed to be me. I’m the youngest. My sister is leagues more well-suited. And I’m… I’m. Well, I’ll never marry.” 

“Never?” Alex’s voice was small, Henry might have even dared call it hopeful. Henry lifted his head, and looked directly at Alex. 

“Never to someone the crown would approve.”

“What do you mean to say?”

“When I give my heart, I give it entirely. I can’t… pretend to marry. I can’t make vows that would be lies.”

“And… _I_ have your heart?” 

“Don’t you know that, love?”

Alex’s expression was unreadable. Henry did not dare hope Alex would say something back, anything so revealing. But Henry couldn’t keep it in anymore, he could hide nothing. His heart was open and wanting, and it was for Alex to do with it what he would. Just then, he said nothing more, only held Henry closer, rubbing soothing circles along his back. Soon Henry’s eyes were heavy with sleep, and he fell, peaceful and dreamless in his knight’s arms. 

—

Life was different now. More joyful. It was stolen glances across long tables, across busy fields, across crackling firelight. They spent their nights together, Alex sneaking into Henry’s tent after dark, spending hours lost in each others’ touch. Henry had the best sleep of his life, feeling impossibly safe, in the midst of all the danger, in the fortress of Alex’s arms.

Soon greater battles were upon them, and during one, Henry was injured. It was even more minor than Alex’s had been, a small head wound from being thrown off his horse. But it had been enough to send the knight into a fit. Henry had never seen him so distressed. And all pretence forgotten, he spent every second he could at Henry’s side. 

“Alex, please, I’m alright,” Henry pleaded with him one night, as the knight watched over him in the cot they now shared. They had the same argument they had been having since Henry had gotten hurt.

“When _I_ said that, you still worried.”

“ _You_ could have died! I’m fine. I promise.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I swear to you, I feel fine. I don’t mind the attention, really, but I don’t want you to worry yourself sick.” 

“I will always worry about you. I promised to protect you, and a knight’s promise is never taken lightly.

Henry sighed. He reached his hand over to cup Alex’s cheek, the knight leaned into his touch. Henry pulled him down into a slow, gentle kiss. When he pulled away, Henry kept Alex’s face close, and gazed intently into his eyes. “I promise to protect you too. Forever. And a royal promise is law.”

That made Alex laugh, and he kissed Henry, and smiled too much to kiss. “If that’s the case then far be it from me to be in trouble with the law.” 

They fell asleep together, every night. Henry did not know what he would do if, or when, he would have to let his knight go. And that time came sooner than he had hoped. The battles had gotten more complicated. Henry’s soldiers had been facing attacks in the night. Spies sent across the battle lines, into their camp, causing havoc. It had raised Alex’s alarm even more than he thought possible. So in addition to organizing a constant guard posted outside Henry’s tent, Alex had taken it upon himself to set out on a night mission, to weed out the problem once and for all. Henry, who had long healed from his minor wound, had been entirely banned from helping. The prince had no idea how he had gotten himself in a position where _he_ was the one taking orders. In any other context, he might have called this a mutiny. But Alex had asked him, with tears in his eyes, with a promise in his kiss. And now Henry regretted how weak he was to it. Now here he was, worried and sleepless. 

In the moments before Alex walked into his tent, Henry was alternately pacing, staring into the fire, biting his nails to the quick, and tugging on his hair in frustration. But the second he felt Alex’s presence, he was leaping upon him, with little regard to the hardness of his breastplate, not yet removed, the fact that he was drenched in blood and sweat. 

It was Alex who protested, “Henry! I need to bathe.” 

But Henry just wrapped his arms around Alex’s neck, “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“I do,” Alex said, but there was a laugh in his voice. He pulled away a little, not enough that Henry had to let go, but just so Alex could look at him, he kept Henry held close by the shoulders. He clicked his tongue, looking at Henry, whose shift was now stained red, the mess spread along his neck and his cheek. “Look what I’ve done to you.” And all the things that could mean hung in the air between them. 

“Let’s bathe then,” Henry said, with a newfound levity, the product of just being in Alex’s presence. He turned his voice seductive, half as a joke, “It’s more fun together, anyway.” 

Henry watched the effects of his words take hold on Alex, his eyes growing wider, darker. Henry had his eyes trained on Alex’s neck, angled up to look at him, revealing its smooth and slender lines. The bump of his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed, there was no trace of a smile on his lips, only a firm determination, and what excited Henry, made stoked that familiar fire in his stomach, was that the primary look on Alex’s face was that of _hunger_.

And though it was Henry who was taller, he felt delicate and shivery under the strength and heat of Alex’s gaze. It was Henry who allowed Alex to lead him, hand in hand, to the small creek behind his tent, deserted at this time of night. It was too dark to see anything, but they were well past the point of being bashful as they undressed.

They stepped into the cool water, letting it wash over them, soothing in its gentle rushing. Henry took a cloth, and dipping it in the water began slowly to wipe away the sweat and grime and blood. Alex was still beneath his touch. Henry focused on the rise and fall of his chest, continuing his ministrations until the knight’s skin was clean. Alex did the same, careful touches to wipe the blood from Henry’s face. 

“Are you alright? Did it… how did it go?”

Alex took a while to respond. “I don’t know if I can talk about it. Not right now.”

“You don’t have to.”

Even in the dim moonlight, Henry could see the way Alex’s face fell, and he quickly pulled him close. “I am sorry,” he whispered into Alex’s skin. “What you saw. Whatever you had to do. It was for me. I am so sorry to put you through his.”

"I would do this and so much more. It scares me to think what I wouldn't do. For you."

Henry felt Alex’s fingers tighten where the knight gripped the back of his neck, “Alex,” he breathed into his shoulder, it was terse, almost a warning. His touch stung a little, and Henry worried for a moment, that his fingers would leave bruises, but then he let go, and Henry felt Alex’s lips again, warm, seeking his pulse point, finding it, pressing a kiss there. It made Henry’s whole body shiver, press closer, and without his even realizing it, he whimpered. He could feel his face flush, the embarrassment of how severely he was being affected was beginning to sink in. His fear was beginning to sink in as well. How quickly he had fallen, and how far. And what if the brutal truth of everything that it meant to love Henry was too much for Alex in the end? 

That night, Alex’s touch was different. It felt more deliberate somehow, like he could hear Henry’s unvoiced doubts. But it was angrier too, a little rougher. It was not that Henry minded. His heart beat frantically, and his whole body grew hot when Alex showed him just how strong he was. It was alright, because Alex was always gentle too. He gave Henry everything, fast and slow, fire and ice. And after they had exhausted each other, Alex fell asleep on top of Henry. Though the prince was taller, and even a little broader-shouldered, he felt pinned down and secure from Alex’s weight. And he knew, gazing at Alex, bronze in the firelight, long after he was asleep: he would never love anyone the way he loved his knight.

— 

The day finally came that this war would end. And it came with no fanfare. Only this: their opponents backed into a corner. A clear blue sky and a wide open field with nowhere to hide. The strategy was only this: conquer with superior might. Fight well. Fight bravely. And so Henry roused his soldiers. 

“You have come so far, sacrificed so much, faced such great victories, and weathered brutal defeats. It has led us all to this, our final challenge. We shall meet it together. We shall meet it fearlessly. I have put my faith in you and you have proven me right again and again. And now you will prove me right once more. One last time. For Mountchristen! For England!” 

And for this fight, their contenders were strong. There was nothing easily won. And Henry led his cavalry, dodging archers’ missiles raining from the sky. While Alex charged forth with the foot soldiers, bringing down their swords with thunderous clanging, the deafening fury of war. 

Henry tried as long as he could to keep an eye on his knight, even as he fended off swords coming at him from all sides. Too often was he lost in the sea of soldiers. Henry fought, and rode, and watched men dragged off of the battle field. Until finally, the French general was before him. A man of immense stature, with the dogged determination of a man determined to lose on his own terms, Henry advanced towards him with reproach. They eyed each other, a silent pact to dismount and fight on foot passed between them. Henry took a shaky breath, cast his gaze around for the knight, not seeing him, he proceeded anyway, steeling his nerves. 

He had trained for this moment his whole life. The identity that he was meant to inherit was built on this— this fighting that was meant to demonstrate his valour, this valour that was supposed to justify his power, this power that was his birthright. Henry had always felt like he was playing out someone else’s story. He parroted the moves he was taught. 

So he rounded on the general as soon as his feet touched the ground, assuming a defensive stance, but keeping his sword drawn and ready. The general advanced, and Henry parried at once. And then it was Henry’s chance to swing, and the general parried. They went on like this, and Henry catalogued each of the general’s moves, until he saw an opportunity and knocked the sword from the general’s hand. It went flying, and Henry took advantage of the moment, slashing at his legs. The general fell, toppling over backwards. Henry stalked over, his sword at the general’s throat, and prompted him to utter his surrender. 

Everything went very quickly after that. The general called for his troops to cease and slowly the clamour of the battlefield went still. Henry searched for Alex through it all, casting his gaze around anxiously, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious. But he couldn’t see his knight anywhere. He quietly nursed his worry as the motions of the battle’s end happened around him. He went where he was asked, feeling completely untethered from all that was going on. 

Until finally, he spotted him. 

“Henry!” the knight called, running up to him. His armour was spattered with blood, his helmet gone. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. He had a big grin on his face. “We won!” 

Henry couldn’t help it. He pulled the knight into a tight embrace, difficult for the metal breastplates between them. But he tucked his head into the crook of Alex’s shoulder, and then, at last, he could feel the ground beneath his feet. The feeling was one of such immediate, overwhelming relief, that he found himself sobbing into Alex’s shoulder, folding himself down, curling over him, trying to be as small as he felt. He felt Alex rubbing a hand down his back, to soothe him, but the tears kept coming and they wouldn’t stop. He was barely aware of Alex leading him off the battlefield, back to his tent, removing his armour, wiping the blood off of his face gently, putting him to sleep. 

When next he awoke, it was time to ride back home. 

“Are you feeling well enough to ride, or should I arrange a litter?”

“No, Alex, it’s alright. I’m not even injured.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I'll be alright." 

And so they started their journey. Henry rode near the front of the pack, and stayed silent for most of the journey. He was aware of Alex, nervous about his mood, but he also had no idea what to say. He was mourning something. Himself? Maybe a past version of who he was? The boy who thought he could stay a perpetual prince, unmarried, unremarkable, and lost to the history books, who was just now coming to terms with the weight of the responsibility he would soon bear on his shoulders? He felt as if he’d lost a sense of freedom. He felt lost in general.

He knew he had to explain something of what he was feeling to Alex, who did nothing but dote and worry about him. And he made up his mind when they were alone, in his tent, set up for a night of rest during their journey. He and Alex lay next to each other in his cot, and Henry turned on his side to face him, Alex did the same. Henry reached out and laced his right hand with Alex’s left, held their hands intertwined in the space between them. 

“I didn’t think we would win,” Henry said. 

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.” 

“You didn’t want to win?”

“I didn’t want to fight.”

“Why?”

“Because everything will be different now.” 

“I’ll stay the same.”

“I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t.”

“Henry, you’ll still be you.” 

“I’ll be the king.” 

“Even that title, and all the responsibility that comes with it, could not take away anything of who you are.”

“Is that another knight’s promise?”

“Everything I say to you is.” 

“I love you,” Henry said then, the words flooded out of him. Alex was silent. He brought their hands, still intertwined, up to his lips and kissed them. Henry swallowed past the lump in his throat. A long silence stretched between them, and Henry felt distant even though they were so close. 

“Let’s sleep,” Alex whispered, finally. It was not what Henry had been expecting him to say. “We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

Henry closed his eyes and said nothing more.

— 

“For too long have our halls gone without celebration,” Philip announced. His voice was still weak but the room was silent to pay him their respects and listen. “It is my sincere joy to inaugurate this banquet in celebration of my brother’s glorious triumph. He will make a fine king, indeed.” 

It was the nicest thing his brother had ever said to him, or even about him, incidentally. Henry blushed with pride at the praise, even though the actual promise of the words made him feel ill. Alex beamed at him from his side. That helped, a little. 

As soon as Philip sat down, the festivities began in full swing. Advisors and noblemen approached Henry, offering him their congratulations, lying and telling him that they’d believed in him all along. Alex was pulled along by several of the young ladies of the court, tittering and fawning over his bravery. Henry knew, logically, that it was foolish to be jealous. Still, he couldn’t help the pinprick of irritation at the sight of it.

Alex definitely noticed, and he smiled, encouraging it, to make Henry even more annoyed. Eventually, though, he took mercy and he came over to Henry, leaning close to whisper in his ear. 

“You look terribly bored.”

“I _am_ terribly bored.”

“A king would do better to hide it.”

“I’m not a king yet, and I certainly don’t want to be a king tonight.”

“What do you want to be?”

Henry leaned closer then, voice a barely audible whisper. “Yours. Only yours.”

Alex whispered back. “Well, that’s simple. You’re already mine.”

“I wish we could go somewhere, just the two of us.”

“I live to serve you, your highness. Consider your wish granted.”

Henry was not sure what Alex was thinking, but the mischievous glint in his eye made Henry certain it would be unbelievably disruptive, indecorous, and embarrassing. And indeed it was all three. Henry watched in horror as Alex climbed up onto the bench in front of him, cupped his hands in front of his mouth and announced, “Hear ye, hear ye! The prince, his royal highness Henry Edward James Mountchristen, shall be retiring from tonight's festivities. He has just fought a very successful battle and is understandably very tired.” Henry braced himself for the ensuing chastisements, or indeed the scandalized gasps, and was surprised to find everyone laughing and cheering instead. They were cheering for _him_ , and Alex was cheering the loudest of all.

Alex looked down at him, smiling. And coming down from his perch he leaned close and whispered to Henry, “You go on ahead, sweetheart, I’ll join you soon.” 

Suitably embarrassed, he waved politely as he made his way through the winding castle, up to his chambers. As he closed the door behind him, he buried his face in his hands, and fell to the floor giggling, overcome. He could not remember the last time he ever felt so _light_. Not just an absence of the heavy sadness that had come with the great deal of loss and grief that he had felt in his young life, but for the first time in his life Henry didn’t feel lonely. There was a brightness within him, some inner glow that demanded to shine.

When Alex came into his room, moments later, Henry was upon him in an instant. His lips on Alex’s lips, his hands in Alex’s hair. He pressed Alex up against the closed door and kissed him with all the love he had inside him. And Alex kissed him back. But once Henry felt more grounded, more aware of everything, of Alex’s touch, he sensed Alex holding back. There was something stiffer in the way he was holding himself, something hesitant about his touch. 

“Is everything alright?” Henry asked, pulling back to see a troubled expression on Alex’s face. The knight was silent for a moment. 

“Henry, you know I love you, right?”

Henry’s heart felt full to bursting. “You had not said it until now but yes, I’ve known.”

“I have to tell you something. I don’t know how.”

Henry pulled Alex closer, and pressed a kiss full of promise upon his lips. “You can tell me anything.”

Alex looked up at him, with an anxious expression, and spoke quickly. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.”

Henry’s heart picked up its pace. He let go of Alex then, and stepped back. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a lump there. “How so?”

Henry tried to quell the anxiety thrumming in his chest as he waited. Alex took a deep breath before he began. “When I came to England as a young man, it was not as a knight, but as a friendly hostage of the king’s. He told me to keep my origins a secret, so as to not rouse suspicions regarding your kingdom’s fealties with mine, and I spent these latter years of my adolescence into adulthood training as a knight and a soldier. But, in truth, I am the Prince of Claremont. Third in line to the throne.”

“You are... Philip did this?” Henry’s voice was small, his feet felt stuck to the floor.

“Not Philip. Arthur.” 

“My father? What… why?”

“For unity.”

“What?”

“Between our two kingdoms. He hoped… he hoped that I would bring our realms together.”

“How?”

“Arthur never told me what exactly it would be once I was older. Perhaps I was to marry your sister. I didn't know. I never imagined I would feel this way about you but I do and it seems it would be mutually advantageous if we were to stay as we are— together, I mean—”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Henry?”

Henry had to turn away then, his whole body felt as if it had been doused in a frozen lake. “I meant to ask you how you expect me to trust you anymore.”

“I was forbidden from telling anyone.”

“You should have told me the moment you touched me. Otherwise everything would have been under false pretences, and in fact, it _has_ all been a lie.” 

“I wanted to tell you, Henry, but I was afraid this would happen.”

“What would?”

“That you would think this was all a political ploy, that’s never been the case. This has always been about how I love you, how I got here… it’s just incidental.”

“It’s not incidental for me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I cannot in good conscience love a _liar_.”

“Henry, please—”

“We will return you first thing in the morning.”

“Henry.”

“Your highness.”

Henry waited a moment, eyes trained on the ground before he heard Alex’s sharp exhale, the realization that Henry had not been correcting him— but addressing him. 

“Henry, you don’t have to do this. You know I haven’t lied to you about how I feel. You know it in your heart.” 

“I don’t know anything about you."

“You know me better than anyone. Please, Henry.”

Henry rounded on Alex then, unable to hide the tears in his eyes, he let Alex see them. The knight was blurry in his vision. “I need you to leave right now. I need time… to understand this… to make sense of my feelings."

“Can I talk to you tomorrow?” 

“I don’t know. Please. Just go.” And with that Henry turned away again and he tried to breathe, a shaky inhale, a shaky exhale, before he heard the door open and close and he was alone. 

Once again. He was alone. 

— 

That night he had a dream. Of a lonely prince. In a lonely tower. Where the rain beat against the windows each day, and after years, beat smooth the stone building until it shone, smooth as sea-glass. And the window wore away. And inside, the bones of the prince, curled in on one another. Soon turned to dust. 

Henry woke, but his head was still foggy, and heavy from crying. He did not know what to think. It felt like his brain no longer worked. 

In some ways, much more of Alex’s behaviour made sense. How distant he sometimes was, how hesitant he had been to tell Henry he loved him, how he had always been holding something back. But other parts made no sense at all. He hadn’t needed to say that he loved him, Henry knew Alex loved him. Alex was the only one who could truly _see_ him for all that he was. Alex had put everything on the line, he had fought for Henry in a war he didn’t even _believe_ in. He had done everything to ensure Henry’s safety, nearly gone mad when Henry was hurt. He had kept Henry’s token. All these years. Alex had given Henry his whole heart. Now Henry was about to let it go. How could he let it all go? 

And yet, perhaps it was right that this had all come out now. 

Philip was in good spirits since Henry had come back victorious, and perhaps now he would live long enough to see Henry married, to leave an heir. If that happened, Henry would have had to turn Alex away anyway. There was nothing about him, or what they shared, that Philip would understand. Perhaps his father might have, when he made the arrangement. Henry was a little impressed to think of it. The kingdom of Claremont was an advantageous ally. Unified, their two houses would have connections through England, France, and Spain. Perhaps his father would have expected them to send a female heir, or that Alex would marry Beatrice. Henry had to laugh at himself, thinking of politics with a broken heart. 

It was still dark outside as he lay awake thinking. The longer he did, the worse he felt. So he curled in on himself and tried to sleep. Though it had only been a few days he had shared his bed with Alex, he missed the soothing warmth of his body beside him. To think he might wake up the next morning and find Alex gone did not help sleep come. Nothing did. 

So he simply waited until the dawn’s light filtered through his windows.

—

At some point, Henry had drifted into sleep, perhaps his exhaustion had finally won over his anxiety. And he didn’t dream, or he didn’t remember any dream. But when he woke, to the knocking of his attendants at the door, he had come to terms with a grim reality, he had made the impossible decision. 

“I want you to make sure Sir Alexander is sent on his way back to Claremont today,” he told his guard, assembled at the doorway of his chambers. He had not yet been able to get out of bed. 

“Yes sir,” Shaan, the captain of his guard said and he led the men out to do his bidding. Henry had never felt his power more corrupt. As soon as they were gone, he sent his attendants out as well. Then, thoroughly alone, he wept and wept until he felt he had certainly rid himself of every tear in his body.

Then someone knocked on the door. A wild, impossible hope made Henry believe momentarily that it was Alex. But when he called them in, it was Shaan. 

“My lord, the knight Alexander has refused to leave.” 

“Refused” 

“Indeed he put up such a fight that it took three of my men to subdue him.” 

“You hurt him?” Henry tried to raise his voice, but it was hoarse, and cracked. 

“No, my lord, he is unharmed. But we had to put him in the dungeon until he calms down.”

“He’s in the dungeon?!” 

“Yes, my lord, and he is demanding to speak to you before he leaves.” 

Henry buried his head in his hands. All the air left his body in something between a sigh and a laugh. 

“Very well,” he said to Shaan once he had collected himself. “I will be ready in a moment to speak to him.” 

And so Henry found himself calling back his attendants, washing his face, getting dressed, and running a comb through his hair all in order to pay a visit to the dungeons. The ridiculousness of the situation made him laugh, even though he was going down for no joyful errand. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. The smile only fell off his face when he saw Alex, curled up in the corner of his cell. And when Alex looked up at him, rings under his eyes, which were puffy and red from crying. Henry couldn’t smile now, his heart was broken all over again.

They started at each other in silence for several, long moments. Henry approached the bars of the cell, gestured for the guard to open them. And then he asked the guard to leave. Though he hesitated for a moment, he obeyed Henry’s orders and soon they were alone. He entered Alex’s cell. Alex got up from where he was sitting and approached Henry, stopping an arm’s length away. They were silent for a moment more, until finally Henry spoke, his voice watery and uneven. “You won’t leave?”

“I won’t leave.” Alex stuck out his chin. Defiant as ever. But Henry knew how much he was hurting. It was the same way he felt. Still he played this game. 

“I ordered it.” 

“I defy your order.”

Henry scoffed. “As always.”

“What will you do about it?” 

“I could declare war.”

“I’d beat you,” Alex said, his voice low, and he stepped closer. Henry felt his breath catch in his throat. “I know all your tricks.”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“We’ve been through too much for you to end it like this.” 

“End what? What was this even supposed to be? I can’t marry you. You know that.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me.” 

“Then what are we doing here?” 

“I’m asking for my promise.” 

“Sorry?” 

“When I was wounded, after our first battle, and you were stitching me up, you said that you would promise me something, _anything_ , and I would get to choose.”

“What, was this all so you could rob my kingdom’s coffers?” 

“I don’t want money. I want you.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“I want to be with you. I want you to forgive me for lying to you. I will repent for it every day if I must. I want you to remember that you love me. I want _you_.” 

“And what happens if I can’t give you all of that?” 

“You already have. I have your heart, Henry, I know. And you told me once, you give your heart entirely. I know I haven’t treated it well. I know I’ve lied. But I only beg your forgiveness, that you can see that I know my mistake and I will never repeat it again.” 

Henry felt Alex’s words, each and every single one of them, as they hit his heart. Not a single syllable washed over him, each one was an arrow precisely cast to break down his defences. 

Henry sighed. He looked away, kicked at the dust on the ground. This really was not the best place to have this conversation. “How do you propose this will work?” 

“What?” 

Henry turned back, and the smile on Alex’s face nearly brought tears to his eyes once again. But he cleared his throat, and he steeled himself. “I said, how do you propose this whole arrangement will work?” 

“Henry,” Alex breathed, and he moved closer, in a rush, pulling Henry down by his lapels, he kissed him, and nothing in the world had ever felt righter. Henry wrapped his arms around his knight and held him close, kissed him back, with all the love he had. And he knew that Alex kissed him with all his love too. Alex pulled back, breathing heavily, “So you forgive me?”

“Yes,” Henry said, kissing him to punctuate his point, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s alright. I know it was a lot. I know you needed time to think.” 

“I thought. And I realized I can’t be without you.” 

“Nor I without you.” 

“Good,” Henry said, and he smiled, kissing Alex once again. But he pulled away then, his brow furrowed. “Shall we leave the dungeons?” 

“Not romantic enough for you?” 

“A bit worse than what I’m used to, I’m afraid.” 

“You already forget, I am no stranger to princely tastes.” 

“But you’ve lived as a knight for so long.” 

“Perhaps it’s time, then, that I’m reacquainted?”

“I believe we can arrange that.” 

—

Hours later, they were naked and wrapped up in one another in Henry’s bed, warmed by the afternoon sunlight streaming through his windows. Alex sighed worn out with pleasure, and he kissed the stretch of skin above Henry’s collarbone. Henry scratched his fingers idly through Alex’s curls. He smiled, perfectly content. 

“You never answered my question, you know,” Henry murmured. 

“What question?” 

“How shall we rule our two kingdoms, united as they are now?” 

“Oh! Well, I have given this some thought, you know.  I expect my sister June will remain the heir in Claremont. She will inherit from my mother.” 

“And the people have no problem with that? With…?”

“What? A woman on the throne? No. They do not.”

“And what about you, then?”

“I will stay here, with you, and I will be your companion, rule beside you if you’ll let me. I will be a token of our everlasting peace and cooperation.” 

“You are more than just a token, you know.”

“I know.”

“I can’t imagine how you ever took this arrangement lying down.”

“I didn’t. Not even a man such as your father could convince me. It’s strange to think about it now, but originally, I had no plans on seeing it through. Not until I fell in love with you.”

Henry had to laugh, but there was some nervousness in it. “What were you going to do then?” 

“I was just going to stay until I'd come of age, then tell you the truth, and go back to my kingdom once you’d been coronated. I figured my service in the war to get you there would have been pledge enough of our loyalty.”

“Is that when you fell for me? The war?”

“I’ve always wanted your attention, in some form, as long as I’ve known you. But yes. I think as soon as I got to know you that I fell. But it was inevitable.”

“I see.” Henry smiled, and he leaned down and kissed Alex, because sometimes Alex said things that made it impossible not to kiss him. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Henry laughed. And how would the knight know? How long he had been pining for him. It was almost embarrassing. 

“I’m serious.”

“Always. From the moment I saw you.” 

“But you saw me first, so many years ago.”

“Yes, my clever knight. When I made Beatrice give you my token.” 

“I resent the way you called me clever. How was I to know? Your mind is like a fortress!” 

“I don’t think I was ready to tell you. Or ready for what would come next. Not until the war.” 

“Are you ready now?”

“With you? I’m ready for anything.” 

“Excellent, because I have some big ideas on how to improve things around here." 

“Oh, really?” 

“We’ll start with you. Have you been kissed enough today?” 

“Not nearly enough.” 

“That won’t do. That won’t do at all.”

And Alex did all but tackle Henry down against the pillows, kissed him thoroughly, and kissed him again. And they were a mess of tangled limbs and giggles and Henry was happy in a way he no longer wished to hide. He knew that they had obstacles yet to overcome. The matter of what Philip would think was no small concern. But he believed that they could handle it if they were together.

He hoped that history would remember them, and how they loved. But history was a concern for another time. For now, he was content to live in this moment, in these arms, with his love.

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil something for the girls (and in honour of alex claremont-diaz's birthday) in these trying times  
> title from dinner and diatribes, by hozier


End file.
